


There's A New Kid In Town

by Lenore



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-09
Updated: 2008-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new vampire is taking L.A. by storm, and he has an offer to make vampire hunter John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A New Kid In Town

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://thdancingferret.livejournal.com/profile)[**thdancingferret**](http://thdancingferret.livejournal.com/). I hope it brings some cheer. Vaguely based on the Anita Blake books by Laurell K. Hamilton, or the first one anyway, since that's as far I've gotten right now. Thanks to the wonderful [](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/profile)[**svmadelyn**](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/) for the idea and the first line.

John Sheppard didn't sleep with vampires; he killed them. It was important to be clear about these things, he'd found.

Of course, he also didn't have sit-downs with new vamps who came to town bent on killing their way to the top of the undead food chain. This didn't keep an invite from appearing in the afternoon's mail, on cream-colored stationery, with an old-fashioned wax seal, the handwriting decidedly self-important:

 _Mr. Sheppard,_

No doubt you know who I am. At least you do if  
you're not hopelessly idiotic. It would seem we have  
certain goals in common, and since my time is much too  
valuable to waste, I suggest we combine our efforts.  
Come to this address tonight at nine. Bear in mind  
that I have many more important things to do than wait  
around for impertinent humans, so don't be late!

Rodney McKay

  
"What, no RSVP?" John said dryly.

He tossed the letter into the trash.

  
On Wednesday mornings, John met Ronon at the gun range for an hour of blowing away paper targets. Bullets didn't slow down vamps all that much, but in their line of work, it wasn't just the undead that had it out for them.

"Got a warrant to take out those bloodsuckers in Torrance," Ronon said, in between firing off rounds. "The ones that killed those kids." He snorted with disgust. "Took the judge long enough."

John nodded, fondly remembering the good old days when the only rule was: find a vampire, kill the vampire. Simple. Clear. But then five years ago, Congress in all its infinite wisdom signed the Human-Vampire Mutual Preservation Treaty, which outlawed killing vampires unless there was conclusive proof they'd killed a human being. Now if you wanted to put down a murderous bloodsucking monster, there were writs and red tape and court appearances to wade through before you could get on with it.

"McKay wants to meet with me," John told Ronon. "Sent me a formal invitation and everything."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

John nodded. "He thinks I'm stupid enough to walk into that trap."

"Maybe he was asking you out on a date." Ronon grinned.

John made a face. "Not very likely."

"Yeah, " Ronon deadpanned, "'cause you always see it coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Vamps have a thing for you, Shep. Must like the way you look kneeling at their feet or something." Ronon shrugged. "Or maybe it's the hair. You gonna go see what McKay wants?"

"Nope." John fired off one last shot, hitting the center of the target with dead on accuracy. "But I am going to be ready if he comes to see me."

  
Next stop of the day was a job in Bellaire. Elizabeth had called that morning to sweet talk him into taking it on without meeting with the client in the office first, something John had a very firm rule about, for very good reason. What you didn't know sometimes tried to kill you.

"He's in a real bind, John. He desperately needs our help, but he can't take time out from his schedule to come in for a consultation," Elizabeth had started in with the hard sell the moment John said _hello_. "He's a very busy and important man."

"Mmm-hmm. So exactly how much money are we talking about?"

Elizabeth never scrupled about taking a job if there was enough cash on the table. Why should she? It wasn't her ass on the line.

There was just the briefest pause. "As a matter of fact, the client is being very generous. Don't tell me you can't use the money, John. Besides—I already promised we'd take it."

He sighed. "What is it?"

"A ghost. Just needs a simple cleansing."

"Fine," he said tersely. "But never again. I mean it, Elizabeth."

"Of course not," she promised, completely unbelievably. "The client's name is Alan Parsons. He's expecting you around noon."

Traffic wasn't too bad, or no worse than usual anyway. John turned up the radio, and the Mustang, a 1966 beauty he'd restored himself, purred along. When he'd left the Air Force seven years ago—or got kicked out if you wanted to be technical about it—he certainly never would have predicted he'd end up in the vampire killing business. Just one thing seemed to lead to another. He drifted out to L.A. to crash on an old Air Force buddy's couch, and the job he'd been promised tending bar fell through, and then he happened to see an ad looking for people with military or law enforcement experience. That was how he met Elizabeth. He'd been working for her as a supernatural bounty hunter ever since.

For once, there were no accidents clogging up the roads, and John made it to his appointment mostly on time. He knocked at the door but got no answer. He tried it, found it open and drew his gun.

"Mr. Parsons?" he called out as he edged inside.

The house was completely bare inside, no furnishings of any kind, and John's voice rang in the emptiness. He made his way through the place, step by careful step, checking each room. Nothing. He tucked his gun back into his waistband and pulled out his cell phone to report in to Elizabeth. It was still ringing when a hand clamped over his mouth, a rag soaked in something sweet smelling pressed against his nose. His knees buckled, and the phone fell from his hand.

Two men towered over him. They weren't even vampires.

"Hello?" he heard Elizabeth's voice coming out of the phone.

 _Son of a bitch_ was his last conscious thought.

  
He woke up with the distinct impression that he was drooling on himself. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and sure enough. Drool. Because what would injury be without indignity to go along with it? He forced his eyes open, not because he wanted to particularly. Whatever those jackasses drugged him with had given him one hell of a headache. But seeing what was trying to end you was usually a good first step to surviving it.

"Well, _finally_ ," someone said with an exasperated huff. "I told those morons to get you here without causing bodily injury, and what do they do? Use enough chloroform to knock out an elephant. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to wake up?"

John managed to push himself upright. He was on the sofa in a room that looked like something out of a museum. Paintings lined the walls. John was no art historian, but they appeared to be old, expensive and quite possibly by Leonard da Vinci.

A man sat opposite John, or not a man actually, but a vampire. John was pretty sure of it. Most vamps had a certain flamboyance about them. They tended to favor long hair and billowing sleeves and occasionally even a cape, as cheesy a cliché as that was. This one, though, was fairly unassuming in appearance. He had a stocky build and slightly receding hairline, and was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. What stood out most about him were his eyes, hot, bright blue, sharp with intelligence. That and his thighs, which were thick and strongly muscled, shown off to good advantage in the jeans he had on.

John blinked. He had no idea where _that_ had come from. He must be a hell of a lot loopier than he realized.

The man scowled at John. "I'm a very busy person. I don't have time to waste while your brain ever so slowly shifts into…what? Second gear, is it?"

"That's what you get for drugging me and bringing me back to your lair," John said, the words slightly slurred.

The man rolled his eyes. "We could have done this the easy way if you'd just accepted my invitation. I'm Rodney McKay, by the way." McKay gave him a scrutinizing look. "Well, you are rather pretty as rumor would have it, and I understand the thing about the hair now. I did expect a little more in the brains department, though. Seriously, how could you fall for such an obvious ploy? It practically had a neon sign flashing 'Hey look, it's a trap.'"

"Sorry to be a disappointment." John rubbed his eyes, hoping it might help clear his head. "I'll try to be more deadly next time." He hefted himself up onto his feet and managed not to fall over as he walked around the room. "So, where'd you steal this stuff from?"

McKay got snippy. "I'd hardly have to steal my own work, now would I?"

John stared at him. "But aren't these—I mean—" He was almost certain they _were_ da Vincis. "I thought you were from Canada?"

"Most recently," McKay said irritably. "I've had quite a few lifetimes, in many places, using many names."

"I've never heard of a vampire doing that," John said dubiously.

"Yes, well," McKay's mouth twisted with sarcasm, "most vampires don't have a staggering intellect and vastly important contributions to make to the history of science and our understanding of the universe."

 _Uh-huh_. So either McKay was certifiable or a five hundred year old genius. Neither option was anything John particularly felt like dealing with right now. Or, you know, ever.

"So. What brings you to LA.?" John asked with all the nonchalance he could muster.

"Cal Tech," McKay said impatiently, as if he couldn't believe John even had to ask. "You really need to start thinking straight, so we can talk business."

He rang a bell, and a moment later, a young blonde in a short skirt appeared.

"Yes, Dr. McKay?"

"Bring us some coffee, will you, Gretchen?"

Gretchen smiled as if she'd just won the lottery and scurried off to get it.

"Look, McKay," John cut right to the chase, "I don't give a damn about vampire politics, except when it affects humans. You've worked your way up to being the second most powerful vampire in town in just a few weeks. Hey, good for you. If you want to make a move on the master, it's your business."

 _And your funeral_. But John kept that to himself.

McKay's expression turned smug. "I guess word has been a little slow getting out. As of last evening, I am the master vampire of Los Angeles."

It was impossible for John to keep the shock off his face. "But how did you—"

McKay snorted. "Living forever isn't any remedy for idiocy, you know. Darquiel wasn't that hard to outsmart."

John had once seen Darquiel take on ten vamps at once and leave nothing but a very nasty stain on the floor when he was done. John was beginning to reassess just how much trouble he was in here.

Gretchen returned carrying a tray with an elaborate silver coffee service and two cups. She set it down on the cocktail table.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Dr. McKay?" She cast him a shy, adoring look at him.

"That's it. Thanks, Gretchen." He gave her a distracted smile.

The girl blushed, and for a moment, John thought she might even giggle.

John raised an eyebrow at McKay when she'd gone.

McKay shrugged. "She has a crush on my grand unification theory." He poured the coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

John shook his head, and McKay passed him his cup. McKay's hands were square and capable looking and rather elegant. John caught himself staring as McKay fixed his own coffee and not with the very reasonable fear of what those hands could do to him. Maybe _he_ was the crazy one.

After adding a generous dose of cream and a heaping teaspoon of sugar to his cup, McKay took a sip and murmured, "Mmmm. Jamaican Blue Mountain. Now that's coffee." John's surprise must have been obvious, because McKay's mouth quirked into a smile. "Yes, yes, most vampires don't bother with food, but as we've already established, I'm not most vampires. Except, of course, that I do get my sustenance from the usual source, perfectly willing volunteers."

Like Gretchen, John suspected.

"So." John searched for the right words. "What the hell do you want?"

McKay appeared amused. "I want you to do what you do best. Kill vampires."

"Uh-huh," John said slowly.

"And I'm going to help you."

John put on the innocent expression he usually reserved for the police. "Of course, I only kill vampires when I have a valid warrant issued by a federal judge."

McKay waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I know how it's supposed to go. Vampires don't kill humans, and humans don't kill vampires unless they break that golden rule. So the treaty says. We both know how well that works out in the real world. By the time you have enough evidence to get a warrant, a rogue vampire has already left a trail of bodies."

"Why would you care?" John asked bluntly.

"This is my town now," McKay declared, lifting his chin. "It's where I do my very important work, and I won't risk having it interrupted by some ridiculous conflict between humans and vampires."

"Okay," John said, "now tell me the real reason."

McKay narrowed his eyes, and for one rather bumpy moment, John thought maybe he'd gone too far.

But then McKay began, "There was a grad student who worked with me at the university. Her name was Miko, and she was…not hopelessly useless as most people are. One day, she didn't come to work. They found her body a few weeks later, dumped in an abandoned lot in the Valley. Her throat had been torn out."

He looked almost—sad, and John found himself faced with a unique notion, that maybe vampires actually had feelings.

McKay seemed to guess his thoughts, because he pushed his shoulders back and continued on more arrogantly, "Of course, if rogue vampires were only killing unspeakable morons, I'd have no reason to trouble myself. But there's too sad a deficiency of intellect in the world to chance the few people who aren't irretrievably worthless."

"I still don't get what you need from me. You're the master vampire. You make the rules, and you can punish any vampire who breaks them."

"Yes, that is one approach," McKay acknowledged. "But do you have any idea how much time that would eat up? Time when I could be revolutionizing modern physics. Not to mention that this would make me rather unpopular among my own kind. The last thing I need is to be constantly fighting off upstarts who have more ambition than brains. My way, I get you the information you need for your warrant. You take care of the problem legally. Everyone wins. What do you say?"

He watched John expectantly, those laser-sharp blue eyes trained on him, and when had anything about a vampire ever felt as heated as the expression in those eyes? _I wonder if his skin is warm too._ For one insane moment, John honestly considered finding out. Then he snapped back to his senses.

"Stop it," he said stonily.

McKay raised an eyebrow.

"You know what," John told him. "Using your—" He waved his hand. "Vampire mojo thing on me. I'm not susceptible. So don't waste your time."

"Oh, really." McKay gave him a speculative look.

The next thing John knew he was on his feet and pulled tightly up against McKay, their bodies plastered together at every point, shoulders and chests and thighs. McKay had a firm grip on John's jaw, holding John still while he thoroughly explored his mouth. John had no idea how long this had been going on, except that it had been long enough to make him hard.

 _I can have you anytime I want you._ The voice was inside John's head, pounding in his blood and his bones. McKay had apparently been shielding him from his power before, but now he made John feel it, the ancient, throbbing force that would leave John a pile of ash if McKay ever unleashed it on him. He was beginning to think that maybe Rodney McKay _had_ been Leonardo da Vinci in another life and not his first lifetime either. He was quite certain from the intensity of that power that McKay had been around much longer than five hundred years.

McKay let John go, and then he sounded just as normal and human as before, "But that's not how I like to do things. I'd prefer to have your cooperation."

By now, John was an unfortunate combination of aroused and terrified and pissed off. Nothing good ever came of that. Nothing, never, not once. He grabbed McKay by the collar and laid another kiss on him, all wet lips and bossy tongue, maybe not quite as searing as the kiss McKay had laid on him, but certainly not for lack of trying.

He pulled away panting and declared with near suicidal bravado, "I'm pretty sure you can be had, too."

McKay _was_ hard, not that this would be all that much comfort to John if McKay decided to splatter him all over the walls.

"Well," McKay said at last. "It appears your reputation for reckless hasn't been exaggerated."

John took a breath and then another, feeling slightly dizzy.

"So, are you going to work with me or not?" McKay asked.

It would be absolutely insane to agree. The last few moments had proven that.

"Okay," John found himself saying nonetheless.

The really crazy part was that apparently McKay didn't even have to use the mojo to mess him up. John had been just as turned on by their second kiss as their first. Maybe his commanding officers had been right all along. Maybe he didn't have the sense God gave him.

McKay's blue eyes fastened on him intently. "Good. Let's get started then."

They sat back down and had more coffee, and McKay started offering up details of rogue vampire activity. John half listened as he mentally revised his personal mission statement.

 _John Sheppard didn't sleep with vampires. Even if he did occasionally, sort of, kind of, maybe, really want to._


End file.
